Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1887-07-14
ALL TRIPP'S FAULT.
BY MARY ANTERHEIM.

"Why, Mary, how late you are!" ex-
claimed Mary Morrison's father, a
farmer living near Weston, Cheshire.
Il was just going out myself to take
your place. The boys have got half
through"
'Oh, never mind, father" said
pretty Mary, relieving him of his milk
pail and stool in coaxing way. This
gentleman has been taking my Pio-
ture."
"Your picture, eh? Good evening,
sir. / suppose you are one of them
artist chaps at the tavern?"
The gentleman referred to, hand
some young fellow, bowed. Yes, he
was one of "them chaps" And in
proof thereof, he opened his portfolio.
Mary glided off towards the barnyard;
the old man gazed with an open mouth
at her portrait.
''That's her, sure enough; and the
COWS couldn't be better if you had
stuck them in there just as they be
i'm the yard. And Trip, too, you can
see the bark just coming out of his
mouth. j vow it's wonderful! l say,
sir, | should like to see how you do it. "
Ou OIdlI. NOlllC tuio way
The artist crossed the road, followed
by the farmer, and sat down near the
barnyard. Mary sat among group
of mixers. her tongue running fast
about her portrait, while she leaned
her pretty head against the spotted
side of old Moody, and watched her
rapidly-flling pail. Before the work
was over, the quick pencil had caught
them all and grouped them around that
centre figure, like stars around the
moon-like a rustic court attending
upon their rustic queen.
"Well, it beats ALL" calculated the
farmer. Mary, he's made another
picture of you!'
She came out, smiling and blushing.
Dear me, sir, wanted to smooth
my hair and .change my dress before
you took me again."
I'VE will let that go till come an
other time," said the artist, gravely,
as he closed his book. Its almost
time for me to CO."
Come in for a moment and take n
cup of new milk" said the farmer,
heartily. That's what you don't get
in London, Mr."
my name is Curtis Howard, sir.
You are right; l never get milk there,
and | will trouble Miss Mary"
"Miss Mary" hurried away TO wash
her hands and brush her dark hair.
When she came back with the milk the
artist stood in the open parlor door,
chatting with her father as If he had
known him for years.
YES, go tomorrow" he said, in
answer to question, just as she ell
tered; and it was well he took the
milk, or she might have dropped it.
lie looked at her keenly; a deep blush
covered her face: he sighed and raised
a glass TO his lips.
"Your health, Miss Mary, and a
good husband to YOU"
The old man burst out laughing;
Mary put the empty glass away with
a small pain at her heart. She had
often been joked about husband be-
fore, yet somehow she did not like to
hear this stranger joke about it. She
would never marry-nOt she!
The evening passed swiftly away,
and the village clock struck nine. The
artist rose to go.
Goodbye" he said, "and many
thanks for your hospitality"
Goodbye, sir! If ever you come
this way, drop in and stay week or
two with us. Mary here will take good
care Of you, and you can make pictures
of her to your hearts content"
THANK you--you are very kind, and
if am near you shall not fail to ac-
cept the invitation. Miss Mary, may
l venture to ask one thing of you in
memory of this pleasant visit?"
"What can give you, sirp" she said
in voice that trembled, though she
tried TO keep it steady.
That flower, if you will"
lie pointed to the rose on her bosom.
She unfastened it, and seeing thorn
upon the stem, removed it before she
placed it in his hand. lie smiled
sadly.
THANK you. May all your roses be
thornless for everl 1 shall finish your
picture, and perhaps you may see il
again some day. Goodbye, now.''
lie held out his hand. She gave him
hers. The old farmer had already
made two steps towards the gate and
stood with his back towards them,
gazing out towards his beloved barn
yard and the fields beyond. Two pair
o eyes looked into each others depths;
two pair of lips met sortly; two hearts
gave a quick bOundl And then the
artist went away. 1t was quite time
for him TO do sol
So Curtis Howard went away about
his business, and Mary returned TO
hers. Yet often, during the succeeding
autumn and winter, after her work
was done, she stood before the two